And no one really believes him, he thought as he watched the display. No one wants to consider that he might be right.
He dismissed the thought in irritation. He’d never liked waiting—he’d refrained from sounding battlestations to keep his crew from wearing themselves out before battle was actually joined—but there was no choice. There was no point in dispatching his other ships to hunt down the intruder. Someone who’d come out of hyperspace so far from the planet would probably be able to see Orbit Station, but it was unlikely that they’d observed the ships before he’d ordered them into stealth. And so . . .
His mind considered a list of possible options. The intruder, if there actually was an intruder, might just sweep through the system, then depart as stealthily as he’d arrived. That would be, in many ways, the worst possible case. William would never know the intruder had departed. And if someone had come out of hyperspace far too early, either through a navigational mishap or systems failure, they’d have started screaming for help by now. No, the intruder was definitely hostile. The unknown ship might already be crawling towards the planet, preparing to attack.
And they’ll see a defenseless globe, William thought. The handful of satellites orbiting Asher Dales were commercial models, not automated defense platforms. They wouldn’t pose any threat to a freighter armed with popguns, let alone a proper warship. They’ll come in for the kill.
He worked his way through the vectors, one by one. A pirate would probably take the time to be sure the system was defenseless, although he’d have to light up his active sensors if he wanted to do a proper sensor sweep. A Theocratic warship, on the other hand, would probably come charging in, bombard the planet, and vanish into hyperspace before reinforcements could be dispatched from Ahura Mazda. Or maybe the CO would take the time to work Asher Dales over thoroughly. He probably assumed there was no way the locals could signal for help.
And he’d be right, William conceded. It isn’t as if we have a StarCom in the system.
“Captain,” Patti said, “the planetary government is requesting an update.”
At least they’re using laser links, William told himself as he checked his console. A radio transmission might have warned the intruder that there was more in the system than his passive sensors could detect. Better to let them come in fat and happy.
“Inform them that we are preparing an ambush,” William said. It was true enough, although incomplete. He needed to know more about the intruder before he risked finalizing any plans. “And remind them to keep radio transmissions as limited as possible.”
“Aye, sir.”
William leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to relax. He had to show a calm face to the crew, even though his emotions were churning inside. They’d conducted drill after drill, during and after the transit, but they’d never faced a real enemy. There would always be something when the shit hit the fan, something the simulations had left out. His lips twitched, again. The emergency, of course. A simulation, no matter how detailed, wasn’t real. The crew knew it wasn’t real too.
The enemy has to come here, he reminded himself again. There’s nowhere else to go.
It felt like hours before the alert pinged. “Captain,” Patti said, “the probes picked up an energy signature, heading towards the planet.”
“Not an advanced cloaking device, then,” William mused. He studied the sensor readings for a long moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully. The data didn’t prove that the intruder was a Theocratic warship, but the primitive cloaking device was a definite hint. Pirates rarely had cloaking devices. “Can you match the signature to anything in the warbook?”
“Not at this range, sir,” Patti said. “Do you want me to steer the probe closer?”
William shook his head. “Just keep a lock on their position,” he ordered. “And inform me the minute they alter course.”
His lips thinned as he eyed the sensor display. The enemy ship was real, at least. He felt relieved, even though he knew he shouldn’t be too happy. A false alarm would have been embarrassing, but no one would have been injured or killed. The sensor readings suggested that there was only one ship, although he knew better than to take that for granted. A vortex could admit multiple ships into realspace. If there was a second ship, it might have sneaked off in a different direction . . .
Or it might be too close to the first ship for us to differentiate them, William thought. That would be irritating.
He wished, suddenly, for a proper analysis deck. A team of analysts could take a look at the data, sparse as it was, and come up with some proper results. They’d be able to tell if there was more than one ship there; they’d probably even be able to determine precisely what sort of ships were heading towards the planet. But he had to rely on a combination of automatic programs, which he knew had their limits, and his own experience. It looked as though they were facing nothing larger than a destroyer, but he couldn’t be sure. A skillfully handled light cruiser could masquerade as a destroyer until it was far too late for her enemies to avoid contact.
“They’ll be within bombardment range in twenty minutes,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. The enemy ship was picking up speed. It was time. He tapped the alert switch, sounding battlestations throughout the ship, then sat upright. “Communications?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Signal the squadron,” William ordered. “We’ll intercept the intruder here”—he tapped his console, designating a location—“and challenge. Dandelion will take the lead; the remainder of the squadron will remain in stealth until we have confirmation that the intruder is definitely hostile. Our objective will be to capture the intruder, but . . . if we have to destroy her, I’ll understand.”
He looked at the helmsman. “Move us into position.”
“Aye, sir.”
William felt his heart start to race as Dandelion moved to slip into attack position. The plan was not ideal, for all sorts of reasons, but it would have to do. He’d strongly prefer to ambush the enemy ship without warning—his crew had never taken their new ships into combat—yet he couldn’t be entirely sure the ship was unfriendly. A Royal Navy vessel might come sneaking around without permission, perhaps in hopes of ambushing genuine raiders. Hell, a Royal Navy CO might mistake William’s squadron for pirates. The ships had been purchased at Tyre, with all the proper permits, but it wouldn’t be the first time the Navy’s right hand had forgotten to tell the left hand what it was doing. Whoever was sneaking into the system might not know that Asher Dales had purchased the ships.
Particularly when so many ships have been taken out of service, William thought. And when so few liberated systems can afford to buy any ships.
“They’ll enter engagement range in five minutes,” Patti said. “The remainder of the squadron is in position.”
“On my mark, take us out of stealth and broadcast a challenge,” William ordered. “And be ready to raise shields and return fire.”
He tried to put himself in the enemy commander’s shoes. What would he do if he was challenged? He wouldn’t have any IFF codes he could use to bluster his way out of the situation, so . . . opening fire might be the simplest and safest course, particularly if he didn’t know there were actually four destroyers within attack range. Launching everything he had at William might just give him a chance for victory, or escape. He could simply reverse course and beat feet out of the system, on the assumption that Asher Dales wouldn’t want to start a fight, but that would let William have a chance to land the first blow. And besides, William couldn’t let the intruder go. The last thing he wanted was for the Theocracy to return with more ships. He knew, all too well, that the planetary defenses were flimsy.
Perhaps we should have bought that battlecruiser after all, he thought wryly. We’d only have to hire thousands of extra crewmen and spend vast sums on her upkeep.
“The intruder will enter engagement range in one minute,” Patti said. “Sir?”
William frowned. It was definit
ely starting to look as though the intruder was alone, unless there were two ships flying in tandem. He hadn’t seen anyone try that outside the war, and even then they’d been pretty desperate to consider it. Normally, the risks of one ship colliding with another were minimal, but flying in tandem magnified them. He couldn’t imagine the Theocracy taking the chance. They wouldn’t be getting any replacements if they accidentally destroyed their own ships.
He reassessed the situation rapidly. “Take us out of stealth when they enter engagement range,” he said reluctantly. There was something to be said for waiting until the enemy got closer, when they’d have less time to bring their point defense online before his missiles struck home. But that worked both ways. His ship needed time to prepare too. “And send the challenge.”
“Aye, Captain,” Patti said. There was a long pause. “Leaving stealth . . . now!”
“Active sensors coming online,” the sensor officer added. He let out a gasp. “Captain, she’s a Class-XI destroyer!”
Theocrats, William thought. The Theocracy might have lost a destroyer to pirates, but it wasn’t too likely. There had never been many pirates within the Theocratic Sector. The Theocrats had paid pirates to take themselves, their ships, and their depredations into the Commonwealth. It had proved quite effective in the early days of the war. They have to be Theocrats.
“No response to our challenge,” Patti said. “They’re dropping their cloak . . .”
The display sparkled with red icons. “They’re opening fire!”
“Return fire,” William snapped. The enemy CO had external racks. He cursed under his breath. If he’d known the system was going to be attacked, he would have made sure to fit external racks to his ships too. As it was, the enemy had an advantage in the opening round. “And bring point defense online now!”
Dandelion lurched as she emptied her missile tubes. The other ships dropped out of stealth a moment later, adding their firepower to the engagement. William watched the enemy ship alter course, trying desperately to get out of the combat zone before it was too late. The enemy CO had reacted quickly, but clearly he’d been caught by surprise. He needed time to get his shields and point defense online . . . time he no longer had.
A pity we didn’t dare fire until we were sure of our target, William thought. We could have blown the enemy to atoms without risking ourselves.
He forced himself to watch as the enemy missiles closed in on his ship. They were dumb, too dumb to be easily decoyed; he wondered, absently, if that was a deliberate precaution or simple bad luck. Probably the latter, he decided. The enemy missiles weren’t trying to evade his point defense either. His defense was racking up kills as the missiles entered attack range. If there hadn’t been so many of them, he would have regarded the engagement with complete satisfaction.
A missile slipped through the defense grid and slammed into his shields. Dandelion rocked. William checked the display a moment before a second missile struck home. The shields held, thankfully. Dandelion had been shaken badly, but there was no real damage.
Everything will have to be checked, of course, William reminded himself. Something important could easily have been shaken loose by the impacts. The shield generators might even need to be replaced. Someone might even have been injured.
“The enemy ship has been seriously damaged,” Patti reported. “She’s losing power.”
“Streaming atmosphere too,” William commented. He doubted the Theocrats could repair the damage in time to matter. Their maintenance standards were so poor he was surprised they’d managed to build an interstellar empire. “Keep us back. See if they . . .”
The enemy ship went dark. “She’s lost power completely,” Patti said. “Sir?”
William hesitated. If he’d had a marine contingent, he wouldn’t have hesitated to try to board the powerless hulk. Taking the ship intact, or as close to intact as possible, would give him a chance to recover priceless intelligence, including perhaps the location of the enemy base. But a boarding party consisting of spacers might walk straight into an ambush . . . or die, when the enemy hit the self-destruct. They might no longer be able to blow the fusion cores, but there were plenty of other ways to destroy a ship and an enemy boarding party.
“Request volunteers for a boarding party,” he said finally. Did they have time to go back to the planet and pick up some militiamen? The idea was tempting. His crew knew how to handle themselves on a ship, but none had fought on the ground before. “And monitor the enemy ship closely.”
“They might be dead,” Lieutenant Tim Arthur pointed out.
“They might be,” William agreed, although he doubted it. A competent CO would have made sure his personnel were in shipsuits, ready to put on their masks if the hull was breached. But the Theocracy rarely used shipsuits. They regarded most of their crewmen as expendable. “We won’t take chances. Someone could have managed to don a proper spacesuit before it was too late.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sat back and waited as the boarding party was assembled, then dispatched towards the enemy hulk. He’d seriously considered leading the boarding party himself, although cold logic and duty told him such a move was impossible. His place was on the bridge, not risking his life on away missions. Instead, he quietly wrote an updated report for the planet and another for the Royal Navy. Kat Falcone would have to know what had happened at Asher Dales.
“They’ve landed safely,” Patti reported. “The ship’s an airless wreck.”
“Tell them to be careful,” William said stiffly. Airless didn’t mean harmless. Besides, any modern-day starship was designed to close airlocks and hatches at the merest hint of a hull breach. There might be pockets of air deeper into the hull. “And watch where they go.”
Nearly an hour passed before the boarding party confirmed that there were no enemy survivors. William frowned—a survivor might have known something useful—and then ordered the away team to try to access the ship’s computer. Normally, the datacores would self-destruct if the ship lost power, but it was just possible that one of them might have survived. The enemy ship had been hit hard enough to dislodge a great many things.
“The datacores appear to be badly damaged,” Patti said. “The engineers aren’t sure if they can be powered up safely.”
“Then we’ll just have to be very careful,” William said. He studied the remains of the enemy ship for a long moment. “Do they believe the ship can be repaired?”
“The engineers will have to take a proper look at her,” Patti said. “But sir . . . I doubt it. We’d probably find it cheaper to buy a new ship.”
“Probably,” William agreed. A fifth destroyer would have been very helpful. The wreck might still be helpful. If nothing else, she was an excellent demonstration of the importance of keeping one’s shipsuit on at all times. He hoped his future trainees would take careful note. “Have them prep the datacores for transfer to Orbit Station. We can decide what to do with them then.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And send a signal to all ships,” William added. He allowed himself a smile. “Today, we fought our first engagement and won. Well done.”
He sobered as he sat back in his chair. Yes, they’d won the first engagement . . . against an enemy they’d caught by surprise and outnumbered four-to-one. The next engagement would be harder. When, if, the Theocracy came looking to find out what had happened to their missing ship . . .
Let them have their moment, he told himself. We can resume our preparations to meet a greater threat later.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
* * *
FALLADINE
“Got a freighter just coming out of hyperspace,” Lieutenant Randy Elkin reported. “She’s the Testing Time, a free trader out of Jorlem.”
Commander Elizabeth Robinson lifted her eyebrows. “She’s a long way from home,” she said. There were nearly a hundred light-years between Jorlem and Falladine; it was actually a great deal farther, as a starship either had to pass through
the Gap or go the long way around. “Does her ID check out?”
“It appears to be genuine, Commander,” Randy said. “She’s registered with the Free Traders Association. And she’s also requesting permission to dock.”
Elizabeth shrugged. It wasn’t as if anyone would thank her for turning a freighter away, particularly not when the provisional government on the planet below was doing everything in its power to turn Falladine into a shipping hub for the new era. The Theocracy had failed to destroy most of the orbital infrastructure before the surrender, giving Falladine an excellent chance of prospering . . . if it managed to interest enough freighters in passing through the system. The situation was unstable enough that very few independents wanted to take the risk unless they had armed escorts and guaranteed profits, neither of which were likely to materialize.
And yet . . . Jorlem was a long way away.
They could be testing the waters, so to speak, she thought. The Commonwealth wasn’t always friendly to independent shippers, not when the big corporations formed semilegal cartels to drive the little ones into less lucrative sectors. There might be a great deal of profit here for someone who managed to get in on the ground floor.
“Invite them to dock,” she said reluctantly. “And ask them for a copy of their manifest.”
There was no choice, even though something was nagging at the back of her mind. She had no grounds to refuse, or to order the freighter searched. Independent shippers tended to find forced searches objectionable, and the FTA would register protests with both the local government and the Commonwealth. She suspected she’d wind up being turned into the scapegoat if things got out of hand. They could blame everything on her and send her right back to the navy.
“They’ve uploaded the manifest,” Randy said. “It’s nothing more than trade goods.”
Elizabeth scanned it, rapidly. Someone clearly hadn’t known what to bring, so he’d brought some of everything. Farming tools rubbed shoulders with asteroid mining gear and even small power cores. It was a neat collection, she thought; Falladine would be able to use some of the supplies, while others could be passed on to stage-one and stage-two colony worlds. And it was cheap enough for people to actually buy. Who knew? This freighter might merely be the first of many.
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